<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>formalities by OnyxSphinx</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25588495">formalities</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx'>OnyxSphinx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>newmann one-shots [166]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pacific Rim (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Wingfic, hermann and his formalities: the tale, was meant to be a 5 + 1 but instead it's a 3 + 1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:46:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,483</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25588495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Hermann is too formal for Newt's taste, and one time he isn't</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>newmann one-shots [166]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286762</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>formalities</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Newton,” Hermann says, the name grit from between clenched teeth, “if you hit me </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> more time with those blasted things, I’ll clip them off and face the legal consequences thereof.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt scoffs. “Don’t be dramatic,” he says, rolling his eyes, feathers rustling as the transport they’re riding in goes over another pothole, and, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oops,</span>
  </em>
  <span> hits Hermann on the shoulder, making the other grip his cane tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Newton,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he says, a bit lower, eyes narrowed, and Newt raises his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, fine,” he grumbles, “give me a few—I’ve gotta squish them in a bit, honestly, I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> idea how you’re sitting there like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann grunts. “Unlike you, some of us have proper manners, and don’t constantly leave our wings out,” he says, waspishly, watching Newt struggle with his own wings in the small space—Hermann actually has the larger wingspan of the two of them, but he’s got his neatly tucked away behind him into the alcoves built into the seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt, meanwhile, no matter how hard he tries, can’t seem to get his own to sit the same way; no matter how he twists or prods at them, they resolutely remain sticking out, and some of the feathers that’re near to molting are coming out with the force of it, flying around the cabin on the AC drafts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a noise of irritation by his side, and Newt turns; defensive. “Hey, I’m doing my best—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You idiot,” Hermann says, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>haben Sie keine Augen?</span>
  </em>
  <span> There’s a strap across the chair—that’s why you can’t get in, see?” He reaches over, behind Newt, and tugs at something, which gives a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he pulls his arm away, holding half of a strap, giving Newt a disbelieving look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt gapes at him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dude,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank</span>
  </em>
  <span> me,” Hermann snaps, “just get your absurd wings in there before you molt any more feathers—I feel like I’m going to swallow one and choke to death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt scowls at the other. “One,” he says, trying again at nesting his wings in, which, wow, works </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> better without a strap impeding his progress, who could have guessed, “you’re not going to choke and die, there’s like, three feathers, and they’re too big to fit in even </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> wide mouth. Two, uh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sie?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Seriously? What are we, sixty? Dude, you can say </span>
  <em>
    <span>du</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you know, right? Like, you won’t break out into hives or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann scowls at him. “Don’t be absurd,” he says, and wrinkles his nose when one of the feathers finally escapes the AC current and flutters down into his lap. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ihre Federn sind sehr schmutzig, Newton. Schämen Sie!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The biologist snorts. “No, no, you’re right, you wouldn’t break out into hives, I’d just straight up die of shock if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>speak like you were talking to your elderly grandmother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The transport hits something that makes the frame judder alarmingly, and they both wince. “You oughtn’t tempt fate,” Hermann says, after a beat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt resists another eye-roll. “Don’t be an idiot,” he says, instead. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be, like, horrified by the fact that you’re touching someone else’s feathers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the mention, Hermann looks down, sees that he’s been holding Newt’s feather, and lets out an unearthly shriek. “I cannot </span>
  <em>
    <span>believe—</span>
  </em>
  <span>who even </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>where that’s been—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt, if only to spare himself further shrieking, plucks it from his fingers. “There we go!” he says, “and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>totally</span>
  </em>
  <span> forgive you, by the way. Uh, on the condition that you don’t say </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sie</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll stop when you stop leaving your </span>
  <em>
    <span>disgusting</span>
  </em>
  <span> kaiju specimens on your tables at night so they ferment and foul up the lab,” Hermann retorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>one time</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Newt protests, “and you kept putting chalk in my coffee for a week afterwards, so I </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> we’re even.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann narrows his eyes. “I did nothing of the sort,” he says, “unlike </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> people, I understand professionalism.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt snorts. “Sure,” he says, “and it was totally someone else who got into the lab without tripping the alarms because they had an invalid access key. Like, uh, Pentecost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or the young Hansen,” Hermann offers, “he’s a Ranger, he has the clearance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Chuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>put chalk in my coffee,” Newt drawls. “We </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> know he’d rather shove me into a locker, that’s more his style. C’mon, just admit it was you, Herms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other’s eye twitches. “I’ve told you a dozen times—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt cuts him off. “Seven years of experience, yeah, yeah, I know, you’re a doctor, I’ve gotta call you </span>
  <em>
    <span>Doctor Gottlieb</span>
  </em>
  <span>—I’ve heard your speech ten gajillion times...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not even a </span>
  <em>
    <span>number!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Hermann exclaims, sounding comically offended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt grins. “You’ve said </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> a gajillion times, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann lets out a primal little screech, knuckles going white on his cane—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can y’all fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>keep it down?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” the PPDC officer driving growls, “y’all’s are given’ me a headache.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt and Hermann glare at each other for a moment longer, before they say, in grudging unison, “Fine.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> have to do that in here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt looks up from where he’s brushing some feathers back into proper placement. “I’m wearing pants,” he say, “and I’m not working with any biohazardous substances, so you can shove it. Or complain to HR, I guess, but they’ll tell you to shove it, too, just not in that many words.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann glowers at him. “You’re supposed to preen in your own quarters,” he says, “not—in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>public space.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>preening,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Newt says, getting the primary he’s been fiddling with back into proper alignment, and stretching his wings a bit. “I’m going to dye them again. Which, you know, I can’t really do in my room, ‘cause they need to be spread out to dry properly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other stares at him blankly for a few moments; and then says, “I suppose you’ll put horrid temporary tattoos of the kaiju on your </span>
  <em>
    <span>wings</span>
  </em>
  <span> as well, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What—no!” Newt scowls at him. “I know you like to treat me like I’m immature or something, but I’m actually going to dye them properly—family colours and shit, dude, seriously. My dad taught me how to, I’m not an uneducated idiot just because I wasn’t raised in a super traditional family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end, his feathers have fluffed out a bit; defensive. “My...apologies,” Hermann says, after a beat. “I didn’t intend to imply...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you didn’t,” Newt sighs, wings dropping. “Just...yeah. Anyway. Uh, I’ll be doing that. My paperwork and shit is, like, actually done, so don’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>try </span>
  </em>
  <span>with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann is silent; and, when he doesn’t speak again after a good ten seconds, Newt turns back to his own desk and pulls out the tubes of dye and some brushes. By himself, he can only reach so far, unfortunately, so it won’t be as impressive as it was when he was living with his dad and uncle, but it’ll do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After about half an hour, he takes a break to rest; his hand is starting to cramp a bit from the repetitive strokes with the brushes, but he’s about halfway done, and it looks pretty good, honestly—the reds, blues, whites, and greens seem to grow out of his natural, drab sparrow plumage, and Newt remembers why he used to love doing this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stretches an arm, and then the other; lets his wings fan out, too; and lets out a yawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s rather impressive,” says Hermann.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt whips around; clutching his chest. “Jesus fuck, man,” he wheezes, “way to give a man a heart-attack. What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann frowns. “Only a few seconds—did you not hear me come over? You usually notice right away...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...right,” Newt says. “Yeah, no—yeah. No, I didn’t, I was kinda lost in my own head. Uh—and thanks, dude, I like them too. Actually—could you do me, like, the biggest favour ever?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other gives him a wary look. “What,” he says, sounding like he’s regretting every moment in his life that’s ever led up to this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt rolls his eyes. “It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad,” he scoffs. “I just need you to do, like, my back, ‘cause I can’t reach there properly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann sputters. “Surely you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>joking.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” Newt says, popping the p, and holds out the dye and brushes. “And before you give me that bullshit propriety spiel, dude, we’ve seen each other in our fucking birthday suits ‘cause of decontamination procedures. Trust me, you doing a bit of plumage dying for me isn’t anything after </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt pointedly doesn’t think about Hermann looking like a drowned cat; feathers water-laden and shivering without his clothes under the spray of the shower, and how he had wanted nothing more than to take him and curl up with him in like, fifty blankets until he stopped looking so sad and cold. (And also maybe cuddle him a bit afterwards. You know. In this fantasy world.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann sputters a bit more, before, finally, he says, half-strangled, “Fine. Do you, ah. Do you have any...pattern?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt shrugs. “Not really, just don’t put too big a patch of colour in one place and it’s good. It’s more about it being colourful than it being any really coherent pattern.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Hermann says, and takes the brushes. “Er. Well, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be fine,” Newt assures, and feels a tiny little flutter in his stomach when he feels the brush disturb his feathers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only takes Hermann about twenty minutes, what with having the advantage of not trying to get at plumage that’s actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>attached </span>
  </em>
  <span>to him. Newt’s started shivering a bit—it’s cold, that’s why, it has absolutely nothing to do with how intimate this would usually be—, so he’s glad to be able to put his shirt back on, even if he has to keep the back rolled up so that it doesn’t get any of the dye on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Newt says, turning to Hermann. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann nods. “Of course. Er...” he pauses. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ich...finde Ihre Flügel nett.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt bursts into laughter. “You old grandpa,” he teases, “here, gimme those brushes and shit before you drop them or something.” He takes them from Hermann, who’s gaping at him silently, and turns to put them back in his desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sie sind ein Arschloch!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Hermann calls after him, a few moments later; and Newt grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Du bist auch ein Arschloch,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he calls back, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>zumindest bin ich hübsch!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“We’re not going to survive this year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s stated matter-of-factly; and Newt squints, for a moment, as the words process. “You’re kidding,” he says, when they do, and turns to frown at Hermann. “C’mon, man, we have...we have...m” he frowns harder. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jaegers,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he says, finally, tongue tripping over the word a bit. “I mean, yeah, okay, we’re not, like, super great on, uh, money, but...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann scoffs. “You think that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jaegers</span>
  </em>
  <span> are going to save us?” he asks, scornfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You coded them—you’re constantly telling me your work is the best,” Newt points out. “And it’s pretty fucking good, dude, okay, even I’ll admit it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, the</span>
  <em>
    <span> highest</span>
  </em>
  <span> of praise,” Hermann snips; but it sounds a bit hollow. “There’s no amount of good work that’ll hold up against the inevitable, though,” he says, more quietly. “I’ve run the numbers a thousand times, Newton, the chances of us living...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are </span>
  <em>
    <span>above zero</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Newt says, insistently. “Glass half full, dude, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fat lot of good </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> does us,” Hermann mutters. “We’ve already hit it with explosives—all </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>done is contaminate the ocean more than it already was with the Blue. Even if—</span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span> we survive, that’ll be something humanity will have to contend with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...jesus, you’re depressing,” Newt says. “Are all mathematicians like this? No—don’t answer me. I don’t care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann scowls at him. “Maybe when we’re dead I’ll finally get some peace from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt hits his shoulder. “You’re fucking awful,” he groans. “I can’t believe I let myself get dragged into this with you. Shoulda taken the transfers like everyone else, or something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he wouldn’t be sitting with Hermann practically pressed into his side, though</span>
  <em>
    <span>,</span>
  </em>
  <span> a tiny, traitorous part of his mind reminds him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thanks a lot</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Newt hisses at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann rolls his eyes, and takes a swig of coffee from the thermos. “If I remember correctly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> dragged </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> here,” he says, drily. “Something about a celebration for the Marshal convincing Ranger Beckett to return to the Programme.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...semantics,” Newt says, waving his hand, and takes the thermos for himself, ignoring Hermann’s protests, and takes a big gulp of the coffee inside. It’s blackmarket, not the shitty stuff in the cafeteria—this actually has a caffeine kick to it, rather than just being watery, bitter brown liquid, and it tastes like heaven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Semantics are what keep us alive,” Hermann points out, and steals the thermos back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh. You’re starting to sound like your dad with the pedantics,” Newt whines. “Fucking...fancy words, ‘nd stealing shit...what happened to you being </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermann?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann peers at him judgmentally over the rim of the thermos. “It’s never been </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermann,” he says, “it’s Doctor Gottlieb, Newton, you know this full well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt scoffs. “Uh huh. Sure,” he drawls, unimpressed. “Anyway, you let me call you Hermann for ages without any of this </span>
  <em>
    <span>Herr Doktor</span>
  </em>
  <span> bullshit, and now we’ve been working together for five years, man, just loosen up a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hah.” Hermann exhales sharply. “You’re more likely to support that damned—</span>
  <em>
    <span>kaiju wall</span>
  </em>
  <span> than that is to happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt lets out a delighted laugh. “Was that a </span>
  <em>
    <span>joke?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, bugger off,” Hermann says. It’s not too sharp, though, not really meant to be taken to heart; and his eyes are half-lidded; eyelashes dark against his pale, sharp features; wings loose and splayed out a bit, for once; and he looks almost adorable as he stifles a yawn—they’ve been up way too long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt clamps down on </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> train of thought. “Did you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the </span>
  </em>
  <span>Doctor Hermann Gottlieb, make a joke?” he says, instead, raising his hand to his mouth as if in scandalised horror. “Someone go see if hell’s frozen over!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Halt Ihren hübschen Mund,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Hermann grumbles, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sie sind eine Bedrohung.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt, who’s taken the thermos back and is mid-sip, chokes; doubling over, trying desperately not to get scalding hot coffee all over himself. Hermann, ever the gentleman, takes the thermos from him. “Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> alright?” he says, sounding peeved, as if Newt’s inconveniencing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nnnng,” Newt wheezes, and does his best to try and breathe. Hermann thumps him between the shoulderblades a few times for effect, which just makes Newt’s eyes water, and his plumage puff up a bit. “Y—yeah,” he rasps, finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really need to be more careful when you’re drinking,” Hermann says, frowning at him; and his hand’s still on Newt’s back, but it’s rubbing comforting circles now, and his skin is touching Newt’s feathers, </span>
  <em>
    <span>jesus fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You need to be more careful with what you </span>
  </em>
  <span>say, Newt thinks, half-hysterically; and slumps back against the sofa, dislodging Hermann’s hand—and, instead, laying against Hermann’s wing, which has spread out to take up his half of the sofa. Great.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think perhaps we ought to get to sleep,” Hermann suggests, just before Newt can say something and stick his foot in his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need to sleep,” Newt begins to protest; only to find himself yawning. “...alright, fine, maybe,” he concedes. His hyperawareness of Hermann isn’t gone, though, unfortunately; so the next few seconds spent extricating himself from the other are agonising.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he does, Hermann stands up as well; cane in one hand, thermos in the other; wings hanging half-loosely behind him; the right one bent from an old break, both of them speckled with barn owl plumage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a second, Newt wants to reach out and touch them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment passes, though, and he just says, “Thanks for the coffee,” (because Hermann bought it off a kinda sleazy looking dude) and turns to walk back to his place, trying to pretend that the hair on his neck isn’t standing up with eager anticipation.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The room around them bustles with noise. Since the closure of the Breach, they’ve been taking it easy, and not really doing much besides finishing up some reports and tidying the lab; today’s the first day they’ve been outside—together, anyway, into town, ‘cause Newt’s been going out by himself and he’s pretty sure Hermann has too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a tiny little hole-in-the-wall place; the kind where the food-safety is kind of nil, but it tastes good enough that no one really complains too much, even if they do boil their dumplings in the plastic packages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann’s gotten himself a vegetable and rice plate that he eats like a bird. Newt, with his noodles, has no such compunctions; and by the time he’s halfway through, his shirt is splattered with specks of food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear,” he says, “if I knew we could get free food for saving the world, I woulda saved it earlier.” He takes a large bite of noodles, slurping them up as best as he can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann wrinkles his nose. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Helped,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he says, “and that’s incredibly self-centred.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt shrugs. “Okay, and?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other sighs. “Why do I even bother,” he mutters, and takes a bite of his own food, before deciding that, apparently, it needs more soy sauce, and pouring a liberal amount on. “Oh, don’t give me that look,” he snaps, “I’ve seen you drink this stuff </span>
  <em>
    <span>plain.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh. Guilty as charged,” Newt says, “‘s not gonna stop me from being a hypocrite and judging you, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not,” Hermann drawls, “heaven forbid that you hold yourself to the same standards as others.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, my standards helped save the world, so...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re never going to drop that, are you?” Hermann grumbles, and takes another bite of his food, apparently finding it satisfactorily sodium-saturated, because he lets go of the soy-sauce pitcher. “Really, dear, bragging is a horrible look on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh,” Newt drawls, “but I look so good it doesn’t really do anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann rolls his eyes. “I regret ever Drifting with you,” he mutters, “now your head’s swollen to the size of an elephant, and nothing’ll bring it down to size again. I’ll be destined to endure your giant head for years to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, years? Babe, that’s so sweet...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermann kicks him under the table. “Ow!” Newt yelps, “hey, no fair, those are my nice jeans, you’re gonna get them dirty!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nice jeans</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Hermann mocks, “they’re ripped black skinny corduroys, Newton, </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice </span>
  </em>
  <span>doesn’t describe any part of them. They ought to be put in the rubbish—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt lets out a gasp of horror. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would,” Hermann says, flatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt sticks his tongue out. “I hate you,” he says, and takes another, more obnoxiously slurp-y, bite of noodles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That quells whatever Hermann had planned as a response, at least for a few moments, because then he sighs, unfolds one of the napkins, and says, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Komm her, Liebling, dein Gesicht ist schmutzig.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt freezes, midway to another bite. Hermann apparently takes that as a form of compliance, because he gives a put-upon huff and leans forward to scrub at Newt’s cheek and nose with the napkin. “There,” he says, “now there’s no more food on your face—” he stops, frowning. “Newton, are you quite alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You...said </span>
  <em>
    <span>dein,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Newt says, after a few beats; feeling like he’s floating out of his body, and sets his chop-sticks down, because if he doesn’t, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> drop them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You always say </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sie,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Newt says; and watches as Hermann’s expression morphs from worry, to confusion, to, finally, understanding; the lightbulb going off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose I did, didn’t I,” he says. “Er—I can...go back, if you’d like? I don’t want you to be—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No no </span>
  <em>
    <span>no,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Newt half-shouts. “Uh. No, that’s fine,” he says, at a bit more of an acceptable volume, a bit sheepish, after a few of the other patrons glare at them. “Actually, it’s, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> than fine, actually, dude, wow, uh. Yeah. More than fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Hermann says, and the tension in his frame drains; a smile twisting at his lips. “Good,” he says, decisively, and he reaches out underneath the table to take Newt’s hand in his own. “I assure you, I shall use it often.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Newt says, grinning, and squeezes his hand. Hermann’s wings have opened up a bit, and he’s pretty sure his have, too; but no one seems to want to be the person to comment about that, so honestly, Newt doesn’t care, because he gets to stare at his stupid, perfect, stuck-up boyfriend and his perfect, beautiful wings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got sauce on your primaries,” Hermann says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ruined the moment!” Newt whines; but he’s still smiling. “Help me clean it out when we get home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>translations: (disclaimer: i'm not a native speaker by any means lol)</p><p>"haben Sie keine Augen?" - "don't you [formal] have eyes?"<br/>"Ihre Federn sind sehr schmutzig, Newton. Schämen Sie!" - "Your [formal] feathers are so dirty, Newton. Shame on you [formal]!"<br/>"Ich...finde Ihre Flügel nett." - "I...think your [formal] wings are nice"<br/>"Sie sind ein Arschloch!” - "you're [formal] an asshole!"<br/>"Du bist auch ein Arschloch[...]zumindest bin ich hübsch!” - "You [informal] are an asshole too[...]at least I'm pretty!"<br/>"Halt Ihren hübschen Mund[...]Sie sind eine Bedrohung." - "shut your [formal] pretty mouth[...]you're [formal] a menace"<br/>"Komm her, Liebling, dein Gesicht ist schmutzig." - "come here, darling, your [informal] face is dirty"</p><p>you can find me at <a href="https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/">autisticharrow</a> on tumblr</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>